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He only wants to liveforever, or if not, at leastuntil a week from Thursday.Important things always happen on Wednesdays, he is convinced.He has no logical reasonfor his belief, but it is hisand he will not be shaken from it.“It is a matter of faith,” he says“and you can borrow it or leave it,but it’s mine.” He does liketo own things, and ideas arethe greatest things in his world.He is certain he will dieon a Wednesday, not that his deathwill be all that important, thoughhe wouldn’t mind it so, but he wants to be cremated, wants some of his ashes leftin a church, any church, justto let them know we are allcreated in God’s imageand this Wednesday will for him, Ash Wednesday.

He spends considerable timelooking in the mirrortrying hard to see what is there,to see inside himself, to trulysee himself as he imagines others see him.The mirror denies him a static image,it is always shifting, and trythough he might to grasp one single imagehe finds it impossible and alwaysgives up in frustration. Stillhe tries again the next day, and the next after that, neverattaining his desired objective.Ask yourself, what is his failure?If he would become the mirror,then, and only then, he might see himself, rather than a mere image on glass.

A reflection on case 125 of the Shobogenzo (True Dharma Eye)

He walks into the roomhoping he won’t be seenand if seen, won’t be recognized.Not many know him,none, he is certain, trulyknow him, merely his imageand the idea they have of him.It has been this wayfor centuries, and he can barelyrecall the acts done, the wordsspoken in his name.He has been here foreverbut they wait, patiently,expecting a return he cannot make untilthey let go of their dreamsand see the reality of him.

When someone says you arenot looking at all well,who is it that is ailing?When that person says youlooked better the last timehe saw you, which you did he see?If you look in the mirrordo you see someone looking ill,and if you do, who is that person,for you are the one lookingand not the one looked at.

It isn’t the seeing of somethingthat matters, for what is seenwas there to be seen so seeingis just its natural consequence.It is only when you label it, giveit a name that it ceases to exist,for you at least, for at that momentwhat exists is the label and no longerthe thing that was labeled, solanguage always keeps us from experiencing life, renders usobservers of the things weno longer co-experience. It is much like looking in the mirrorand imagining you see yourselfwhen all you see is the polishedsurface of the glass, and whileyou may be many things, weare reasonably certain thatreflective glass was never one of them.

She’s getting downright boring,every night lying up there,staring down when she decidesto part the clouds, saying nothing,as though all of the words of praisefor her must come for us, unreturned.I suppose we shouldn’t be surprisedby her vanity, it is why, after all,she is up there now, unable to moveand we have to accept that our wordsare small salve to her when the godsinvert her, and she is left to gaze down upon us in her mirrorwhen she bothers to stopgazing at her own image, but she says,“I have all eternity, Poseidon be damned.”

If you meet the Bodhisattva,you don’t ask someoneto carve the image from your mind.To the carver, she weighs but an ounceand can be carriedon his fingertipbut try to lift herand you will not be ableto move her from her place.